Hello, my name is Jedediah Williams. I am a field slave working out of Montgomery, Alabama. This is the story of my life.
Table of Contents 1. Education
2. Family
3. Home
4. Entertainment
5. Field Work 6. Religion
7. Diet
Education
Oh, however should I begin? We Negros are not allowed to be taught nary a thing, nor is it at all likely that we could in our condition. Persistent, though, was I in grasping the English language. While at church, I would listen and listen to all those who spoke, grasping every word I could hear from so far back. My fellow slaves and I would also take any sort of book we could get away with from our master's home. Without even knowing the meaning of so many words, we read on to learn as much as we could regardless. In time, we grew to recognize words and apply meanings to them, but more importantly - we could write. We began by taking a simple stick and carving into the dirt the copied letters of a book. It was a rare chance that we could acquire parchment, and rarer still any object with which to write on it. Our talents grew nonetheless, but all this had to be kept from the master - only we would ever know of our skill. Should any whites learn that a slave could read and write, that slave would probably not live very much longer.
Family
My family is both incredibly vast and an entirely unknown entity to myself. All of those around me who eat, sleep, breathe, work, and just generally live as I do are my family. We have all grouped together as surrogates to those that have been lost - my Aunt Clar isn't even remotely related to me as far as I know. Nonetheless, she helped raise me, and has been accepted as my family. Only my mother is the truest of these family members, for I have not yet been misfortunate enough to have her ripped away from me, or I from her, like many of my brothers and sisters. So many of them were swept away by the masters to work elswhere. Their fate is something I can only guess at.
Home
The place of my upbringing
We live in a plethora of shacks and shanties near the epicenter of the plantation. They are poorly insolated - if any is present at all - and lacking in doors. Privacy is essentially nonexistent. While that is acceptable within my family, the intrusion of the masters is most annoying. That is hardly anything, however, compared to the scorching heat experience within; sometimes it feels better to be outside than in the supposed shelter. The crowded miniature village is also never devoid of noise.
Nonetheless, it is joyful - music and laughter abound when we slaves are given free time. In the company of others who know your plight, things can start to brighten up.
Entertainment
To occupy our time - what little there is - we have taken up the grand hobby of music. Whether we be singing or playing instruments, or even just listenting, music is enjoyable for all. I myself play the banjo when it's necessary. It doesn't matter that I cannot play it exceptionally well, for it is simply the joy of playing and bonding together that truly affects us. When someone takes the opportunity to sing, more often than not I'll join in with a random diddy or simply move along to the rhythm. I will sing, though, if we're working out in the field. Chanting doesn't need to be coherent in the least, but it keeps us going and helps unify us.
Field Work
I work nonstop with a group of slaves in the cotton fields, doing whatever job the overseer sees fit to assign. We work for as long as he wishes us to. One day we could be picking cotton, the next three hoeing, and then planting. Refusal to do work or working "inadequately" results in whipping from the overseer, an action I am all too familiar with. I AM a man just as he, and have my limits - occasionally I cannot continue to work after hours of labor. In addition to the workload, the conditions could not be worse. Harsh heat burns our skin all day long, with not a break for shade throughout. We are entirely at the overseer's whim.
Religion
The religion of Methodism has been forced upon me by my master. I do not, however, loathe him for this. Though I may be forced into the back of any church, listening to the words of God gives me hope. It inspires me... Inspires me greatly. Why should we not be free simply because of our skin color? All men were apparently created equal, and I am undeniably a man. I hope that all will one day be established by equal terms, and that the guiding grace of God will make it so. My vast family prays every day with chants to help this dream come true.
Diet
Not only am I forced to work the extensive fields of my master, but in my own time I must also cultivate the land for myself. While some would be content to eat the little cornmeal and molasses handed to us by our master, I find it much more invigorating - and enjoyable to grow my own food. While it does not amount to very much, it is an enjoyable change and something to actually look forward to near harvest time, as opposed to just back breaking labor.
Table of Contents
1. Education
2. Family
3. Home
4. Entertainment
5. Field Work
6. Religion
7. Diet
Education
Oh, however should I begin? We Negros are not allowed to be taught nary a thing, nor is it at all likely that we could in our condition. Persistent, though, was I in grasping the English language. While at church, I would listen and listen to all those who spoke, grasping every word I could hear from so far back. My fellow slaves and I would also take any sort of book we could get away with from our master's home. Without even knowing the meaning of so many words, we read on to learn as much as we could regardless. In time, we grew to recognize words and apply meanings to them, but more importantly - we could write. We began by taking a simple stick and carving into the dirt the copied letters of a book. It was a rare chance that we could acquire parchment, and rarer still any object with which to write on it. Our talents grew nonetheless, but all this had to be kept from the master - only we would ever know of our skill. Should any whites learn that a slave could read and write, that slave would probably not live very much longer.
My family is both incredibly vast and an entirely unknown entity to myself. All of those around me who eat, sleep, breathe, work, and just generally live as I do are my family. We have all grouped together as surrogates to those that have been lost - my Aunt Clar isn't even remotely related to me as far as I know. Nonetheless, she helped raise me, and has been accepted as my family. Only my mother is the truest of these family members, for I have not yet been misfortunate enough to have her ripped away from me, or I from her, like many of my brothers and sisters. So many of them were swept away by the masters to work elswhere. Their fate is something I can only guess at.
Nonetheless, it is joyful - music and laughter abound when we slaves are given free time. In the company of others who know your plight, things can start to brighten up.
To occupy our time - what little there is - we have taken up the grand hobby of music. Whether we be singing or playing instruments, or even just listenting, music is enjoyable for all. I myself play the banjo when it's necessary. It doesn't matter that I cannot play it exceptionally well, for it is simply the joy of playing and bonding together that truly affects us. When someone takes the opportunity to sing, more often than not I'll join in with a random diddy or simply move along to the rhythm. I will sing, though, if we're working out in the field. Chanting doesn't need to be coherent in the least, but it keeps us going and helps unify us.
I work nonstop with a group of slaves in the cotton fields, doing whatever job the overseer sees fit to assign. We work for as long as he wishes us to. One day we could be picking cotton, the next three hoeing, and then planting. Refusal to do work or working "inadequately" results in whipping from the overseer, an action I am all too familiar with. I AM a man just as he, and have my limits - occasionally I cannot continue to work after hours of labor. In addition to the workload, the conditions could not be worse. Harsh heat burns our skin all day long, with not a break for shade throughout. We are entirely at the overseer's whim.
The religion of Methodism has been forced upon me by my master. I do not, however, loathe him for this. Though I may be forced into the back of any church, listening to the words of God gives me hope. It inspires me... Inspires me greatly. Why should we not be free simply because of our skin color? All men were apparently created equal, and I am undeniably a man. I hope that all will one day be established by equal terms, and that the guiding grace of God will make it so. My vast family prays every day with chants to help this dream come true.
Not only am I forced to work the extensive fields of my master, but in my own time I must also cultivate the land for myself. While some would be content to eat the little cornmeal and molasses handed to us by our master, I find it much more invigorating - and enjoyable to grow my own food. While it does not amount to very much, it is an enjoyable change and something to actually look forward to near harvest time, as opposed to just back breaking labor.